Unhappy Trails
by boswifedeb
Summary: While in the midst of working on the bunkhouse and the combat simulator, Matt is called in by Sheriff Martinez to help with a murder investigation that literally hits too close to home and puts the life of a longtime friend in jeopardy. **Immediately follows "Blood Feud"**Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

"**Unhappy Trails"**

****Immediately follows "Blood Feud"****

"**It takes a long time to grow an old friend."  
John Leonard**

**CHAPTER 1**

Ben Devereux stopped his pickup on the trail and walked toward the location of the second of three trail cameras that he had placed on his property. Smiling as he approached the well-camouflaged game cam he had a good feeling: this would be the year he would get that buck that he had been after for the last two years. Looking back over their history he couldn't help but smile. That deer had made a fool of him three times; the first was when he had been so excited that he had forgotten to load his rifle, the second the day he fell out of the tree stand, and the third when he had simply blown a good shot. Technically, he thought to himself, all three were his own darn fault, but blaming it on the deer made him feel better about it.

The camouflage on the cameras these days was about as perfect as it could get. He had placed the camera himself and still had to look hard to spot it. With it in sight he walked from the edge of the stand of pecan trees automatically scanning the ground for snakes and stopped in his tracks; about six feet in front of him was a copperhead. "Boy, you need to move along." He waited, then picked up a small rock and chunked it at the snake who gave him what he imagined was a disgusted look and then slithered off to the north. "Good enough." As he began advancing a smell hit him. "Must be a dead 'dillo back here. Phew!" It was only when he was within four feet of the camera that he spied the source of the odor: lying on the forest floor was a body. "Holy Mother of God..." Backing away he fumbled for his cell and hit 911.

Out on the Houston ranch, all of the cowboys with the help of their boss Matt Houston and his newly-adopted son Tomás had just finished loading the last of the debris from the old bunkhouse into a dumpster. The building that had been on the ranch since the early 1950's had been destroyed by a tornado a few weeks earlier and the last stage - loading the chunks of concrete from the old foundation - was now complete. "Guess it's time to have a party, boys." Marty Hoffmann, foreman of the ranch gave the others a smile.

"I second that motion." Matt wiped his face with the bandanna that had been hanging out of his back pocket for most of the day as they labored in the Texas heat and humidity.

"Hon..." CJ called down from the back porch of the main house, his cell phone in her hand. "Sheriff Martinez..." Although she knew her husband didn't mind helping out the department, he already had a ton of work to do both around the ranch and on a project that he was working on for the Defense Department with computer guru Derwin Dunlap. Seeing his shoulders sag slightly before he turned and came up the steps she knew going to a crime scene was the last thing he wanted at this point in the day.

"Thanks, Babe." Taking the phone he wiped the sweat from his face again in the late afternoon heat. "Yes ma'am?"

"Houston...we've got a call to a murder about fifteen miles south east of you and we are _so_ swamped right now. There's been a gang fight this afternoon and..."

"Where is it?" He took the notepad and pen that CJ had gotten out of the kitchen for him and wrote down the address. "Who's the complainant?"

"Ben Devereux. I'm sorry. Chuck told me you've been working on the bunkhouse and some other project. I really didn't want to call you."

"Not a problem. Have the coroner and CSI already been notified?" Madre Rosa stepped out on the porch with a clean t-shirt and bottle of sports drink for him as CJ returned with his holster, vest and badge.

"They have...but don't be surprised if there's a delay. This gang deal is pretty bad – six kids dead on the scene and over a dozen others injured."

"Sorry to hear that. I've got you covered on this one so don't worry."

"I really appreciate it."

"Well, I do work there ya know. Don't worry about it. Talk to you later." Hanging up he chugged down part of the drink and replaced the cap, pulling out the bandanna and wiping himself off a little bit before donning the fresh shirt and tucking it in. Next he put on the holster, checking the Glock and replacing it. "Be back as soon as I can...but from the sound of things it may be a while."

"Just be careful, Cowboy. Love you."

"Love you..." He gave first his wife and then the housekeeper a peck on the check. "...and you, too. Thanks." Sliding behind the wheel of the truck he started it and hit the AC, leaving the door open for a minute to give some of the hot air a chance to vacate before he closed it and started turning around, then headed down the driveway of the ranch. Turning on the police radio that was now part of the equipment on the truck that he had bought to replace the one that had been destroyed, he could hear a load of chatter about the gang fight. "Maybe one of these days they'll stop..." He shook his head. Gang violence had only done one good thing that he knew of: it had brought his son Tomás into their lives and for that he was grateful. His route took him first west on Atascocita Road, then south on Crosby Huffman Road until it met up with Crosby Cedar Bayou Road where he went east. Next he turned north on Bohemian Hall Road, and then east on Kenning Road where he was met at a gate by the complainant.

"Ben Devereux." The man, though obviously shocked, offered his hand to the detective.

"Matt Houston."

"It's back in the woods a little ways. Do you want to follow me back or..."

"You can just load up with me if you want...save on the tire tracks."

"Sure thing." The man opened the passenger door and climbed in, looking at the interior of the truck. "Not department issue is it?"

"No sir – it's mine. Had to get it a few weeks ago; my other one got crumpled by the tornado in the department's parking lot."

"Ouch."

As they started down the gravel driveway, Devereux explained what he had been doing in the area. "When I saw that I just backed myself right out of there...didn't want to mess up anything for y'all."

"We appreciate it...hopefully it won't be much longer until we can get CSI and the coroner out here. Seems they've had a busy day."

"When I got back to the house my wife told me there was a big gang fight. Damn kids...will they ever learn?"

"Too late for some of 'em." The road up ahead changed to dirt and the detective stopped. "Think you can point out your tracks for me?"

"Sure." They both exited the vehicle, the humidity a smack in the face after the cool interior of the truck. "Right here."

"Okay..."Matt studied the area, not seeing any other tracks. Going back to the comfort of the truck he spoke. "Y'all keep that gate locked all the time?"

"We do."

"Any other way onto the property?"

"Not without going through a barbwire fence."

"Does it front another road?"

"Down on the south side - Wolchek."

"Alright." He followed along next to the path, the window rolled down so that he could see the tire tracks until he stopped where Devereux directed him, still not seeing any others. As he slid out of the truck he rolled the window back up and popped the hood release to let some air circulate underneath, leaving the engine running. "It's about twenty to thirty feet in that way...and look out – I scared up a copperhead when I came back here."

"Alright. Are these the boots you were wearing out here?"

"Yes sir."

"Lemme see the soles on 'em." He looked at the pattern on the work boots, a combination of parallel lines for an inch and a half and then a series of opposing v-shaped treads back to the mid-sole, then more parallel lines surrounding the opposing v's on the heel. "Thanks." Approaching the area cautiously, the cowboy recognized it as a grove of pecan trees. "You deer hunt back here?"

"Sure do." Ben raised his voice as the detective got further away. "Been after a darn buck back here going on three years now. He's a tricky son of a gun."

"They're like that." Matt nodded as he found his way down the nearly invisible trail watching for signs of others who had passed through recently. Although he had been keeping an eye out for snakes, Devereux obviously hadn't noticed the tracks that the detective found now, partially wiped out by the land owner. Spying one that had escaped destruction and squatting down he held his hand out over it, deciding that it looked to be about a size thirteen with an average width. He dropped his pen next to it and proceeded carefully onward, the smell from the corpse in the late afternoon heat not something that he would want anyone else to have to experience. There were plenty of other shoe prints going back to the spot and as he began breathing through his mouth - silently cursing his lack of mints to block out the smell - he got near enough to see that it appeared to be a young man, just short of six feet tall, weighing maybe one-sixty, and wearing jeans, boots, and a light blue t-shirt. His face was obscured by a heavy white plastic shopping bag that had been duct taped around his neck, but from what he could tell the victim appeared to possibly be Hispanic. His wrists were bound by what looked like baling twine. Taking a look at the victim's boots he ruled them out as being the same ones that had made the tracks into the woods. After checking all around the body, he found others that matched the one that he had marked and headed back out to the truck. _Looks like he was carried in..._

Pulling out his cell phone as it began ringing he wiped sweat off of his face once again as he got back to the truck. "Houston."

"Sergeant Oglesby – CSI. Where in the hell is the scene?"

Matt recognized the man's voice and attitude: they had met a while back while the detective was working in conjunction with the Fire Bureau on some murders that were also arsons. The attitude hadn't changed for the better. "Follow the gravel road on down. It'll change to dirt. The tire tracks there belong to the landowner and myself – no need to get a sample. Keep following it and you'll find us. Is the Coroner with you?"

"No." The man hung up.

"I'm gonna warn you – the CSI tech they sent out is a real grouch. Not sure what his problem is but he'll probably want a print of your boot sole and possibly fingerprints or DNA."

"No problem. Any idea who it is in there?"

"No, the face is covered up and I can't move the body to get the wallet until the Coroner gets here. For right now..." He took a swig of the sports drink. "...I'm gonna try to cool off a little bit. I apologize for not smelling exactly fresh as a daisy. Been working all day on tearing down what was left of a bunkhouse."

"Day off, huh?"

"Not exactly. I get called in when they get swamped or just plain stuck."

"Well you sure seem to know what you're doing. Looks like your CSI guy found us."

Climbing out of the truck Houston waited as the sergeant made some notes on his computer before getting out of his SUV muttering under his breath. "Afternoon..." There was no reply. "I marked a shoe print for you – put my pen down next to it. Looks to be about a..."

"I think I can figure that out for myself, thanks." Oglesby shot him a nasty look and pulled out two of his cases.

"Need a hand?"

"No, what I need is for you to stay the hell out of my way." He brushed past the detective who although he had tried to be friendly, was now ready to rip the tech's head off. "This the guy that found him?"

"Yep. Ben Devereux."

"So I guess you went walking all through it back there."

"I didn't know there was a body back there." The man gave Houston a look.

"Great. Now I've got to get a print of your shoes as well." Slinging down the cases he set about pulling out the static film that he needed for the job.

"You know..." The detective walked up next to the tech. "There's really no need for you to be so damn rude."

"Like you would know."

"I know this man called in when he found a body on his property...would you prefer he hadn't?"

"I would prefer not to have to work with _"detectives"_ who haven't earned the right to wear that title...or sheriff's for that matter."

"You know what..." Houston now stood two steps away from the tech and resisted the urge to snatch him up by the shirt collar. "Just pack up your crap and go. I'll get somebody else out here."

"Get the hell away from me!" Oglesby got back to his feet and took a swing at him, missing as the cowboy ducked, his fist hitting the truck instead.

"Do it again..." The cowboy's voice had become a low growl and Oglesby turned beet red. "Get your grumpy ass outta here now."

"Gladly."

Keeping his hands at his sides, Houston watched as the kits were slung back inside the SUV and Oglesby left throwing a spray of dust up on the two men standing there. "Son of a bitch." He pulled out his phone calling Martinez directly. "Look, I know you've got a lot on your plate but I just had to kick one of your techs off the scene – and he may have compromised part of it in the process." Explaining what had happened he was assured that another tech would be sent out.

"Can I speak to Mr. Devereux, please?"

"Yes ma'am." Matt handed the phone over to the man who was still knocking dust off his clothing. "Sheriff wants to talk to you."

"Me?" He took the phone. "Yes ma'am?...Uh, yes ma'am...He did...No ma'am, no need for you to apologize...Well, thank you...If Detective Houston needs a witness he's got one...Thank you." He handed the phone back over and Matt ended the call in a minute then turned to apologize to the man. "Hell, he was pissed before he ever got here. If he hates his job so bad he needs to go somewhere else."

"I've got a feeling he's about to do just that." Motioning him back into the truck, he slid back behind the wheel. "We weren't the first ones to complain about him." After almost an hour's wait another call came in, this one from another tech that Matt had worked with on the arson cases.

"Hey, there. I heard you were in need of a CSI that doesn't mind doing some work." Michelle Rodolfo giggled.

"You got that right." Giving her the same directions he was wishing that he had another drink as he climbed out of the truck. Even though the sun was lower in the sky the humidity levels had jumped and dark clouds were starting to form. "Hope it doesn't start raining before the Coroner gets here." He looked up at the sound of another engine. "Well, would ya looky there."

"I gave them the directions after I talked to you." She looked around as she got out of the SUV. "And Oglesby did all this?"

"Yep."

"Bastard." She began taking shots of the ground where the SUV's tires had spun as the man had left earlier. "You two look ready to melt. There's a cooler in back – help yourselves."

"Bless you." Matt cracked up as he and Devereux grabbed a bottle each out of the cooler.

"Guess he got the dust all over y'all, too?"

"Yep. I wasn't exactly pristine when I got here but Ben was pretty much clean."

"Gotta get a picture of that, too. The sheriff is adding it to his list of offenses. Somebody's about to be hitting the unemployment line. I for one will be glad. He's terrible."

"I don't like having to tell about somebody but there's a limit."

"Yep." She snapped a couple of pictures. "Alright hon, I'll need to get a print of your boots for exclusion." She gave Devereux a smile.

"Not a problem." He did as she asked and in just a matter of seconds she was bagging and labeling the print.

"Did you touch anything on or around the body?"

"No ma'am. I turned tail and got the heck outta there when I saw it. Tried not to mess anything up for you but..." He shrugged.

"We appreciate the effort." Giving him a smile she started toward the pecan grove. "How many snakes am I gonna find back here?"

"There's at least one that I saw earlier – copperhead."

"Alrighty." She started in.

"Marked a print with my pen up that way." Matt took another long swig of the drink.

"Thanks." Moving on along with the Coroner's assistants right behind her she dropped a marker and ruler next to the print and photographed it before moving on into the trees.

"Why don't you go on back in there and stay cool?" Houston motioned to the pickup.

"Alright."

Taking another swig of the drink, Matt put the bottle inside the truck and put on a pair of nitrile gloves as he followed along, picking up his pen and pulling out the notebook that was in his pocket. Watching as the tech took pictures from practically every angle possible he wiped away more sweat with the arm of his t-shirt. In a couple of minutes the Coroner's assistants removed the wallet and handed it to Matt. "Charles Eli Nighthawk..." He copied the man's information down in the notebook and then dropped the wallet into an evidence bag that the tech held open for him. It was then that the soft patter of raindrops could be heard on the leaves.

Working together all four moved the victim into a body bag and as the assistants carried him back out to a stretcher, Houston carried one of Michelle's cases back to the SUV for her. "I sure appreciate you coming out here."

"Not a problem – that's my job." She gave him a big smile and then pulled two more bottles out of the cooler. "One for the road."

"I owe you."

"Don't worry – I'm about to collect: would you take Mr. Devereux back in to retrieve the SD card from the camera?" She opened a bottle herself.

"Not a problem." Matt took a big swig "So it looks like he was carried in there, and I only found one set of shoe prints other than Devereux's."

"Yep. We need to look outside here and see where they came from. Is there another gate?"

Shaking his head the detective swallowed another shot of the drink as he motioned in a circle around them. "He says there's barbwire all the way around. But if somebody wanted to cut it..."

"Uh huh. Well, looks like we get to go for a walk in the sprinkles."

"The south side of the property fronts Wolchek Road. Might be our best bet."

"Tell you what...why don't you and Mr. Devereux approach it from the road and I'll look for more signs and work my way down there; call me if you find anything. Deal?"

"Deal." Matt turned back toward the truck, got the landowner, and together they went back to remove the SD cards from the last two cameras. He also handed over the card from the first. As the cowboy gave them to the tech he grinned. "You wouldn't happen to be related to a lady in LA named Cheryl Crawford would ya?"

"Not that I know of...why?"

"Y'all could be sisters – at least in attitude." He gave a chuckle, slid behind the wheel, and put the truck in gear, telling Ben what they had in mind.

Out on the road they headed west then south, retracing his route out to the property, then headed east on Wolchek Road. "I believe we just found the way in..." Pulling over on the shoulder Matt hit his flashers and pulled out his phone to call the tech to let her know. Devereux slid out of the truck grumbling at the sight of the fence he would now have to repair.

"Runnin' any cows out here?" The detective hadn't seen any recent sign of such at the pecan grove.

"Not any more." Ben shook his head sadly. "The drought took care of that. When the pond started drying up I had to sell." He watched as Houston began scanning the ground and dropped down to examine another shoe print. "Got a match to the others. Looks like they definitely came through this way." He stopped at the fence. "And it looks like somebody got a little more than they bargained for with the fence." Pointing to a piece of material that was caught between a post and a barb he nodded. "One point to the good guys." He entered the woods, the area a mix of oak, elm, and pecan stopping about ten feet in when he heard a rattle. "Go on now, I don't have any arguments with ya." He waited as a rattler stared at him for a minute and then moved away to the east. Looking back down at the tracks it was obvious that their suspect hadn't even attempted to cover them up and appeared to be weighted down. _He was definitely carried in...by one person. Must be a pretty stout guy._

"Hey, Michelle." He answered the ringing cell phone. "Yeah, we've got tracks and what looks like a piece of shirt on the fence."

"Alright. I'm about to enter the woods again on this side. Oglesby really screwed up this time: he took out part of the prints where he spun out. His ass is sooooo gone."

"Good." Wiping his face again, the detective hung up and kept following the trail that was clear to him. In a matter of minutes he met up with the tech and took the cases from her, holding them as she continued to document the tracks and led her up to the fence where she collected the material. "Well..." She stripped off her gloves after finishing up. "Guess that's about all we can do here. Mr. Devereux, I'd like to apologize for what happened earlier."

"No need. That guy was just looking for a fight; damn near got one, too when he took a swing at the detective here."

"No he didn't..."

"Yep." Matt nodded. "Hit the passenger side of the truck over there." He followed her around as she took a look. "Bet that didn't feel so good on his knuckles." He gave a grin.

"Did you tell the sheriff that?"

"No."

"You will; when you get to the office she wants you to file a report; make sure it's in there." Turning to Ben she spoke again. "She'd also like to get a statement from you."

"Not a problem. Be glad to do it."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

After dropping Devereux off at home and arranging for him to make a statement the following day, Houston headed to the nearest gas station: the better part of a tank had been wasted trying to stay cool. Dialing the ranch, he spoke first to the housekeeper and then CJ, letting her know that he had to go to the office and try to scare up some information on the victim. He then told her about the paperwork he had to fill out because of his encounter with Oglesby.

"What a jerk. Umph. Just be careful, hon."

"I will. Love you, Babe. 'Bye." He hung up and pulled into a station, filled up the tank on the truck, hit the restroom, then bought a bottle of water and another sports drink and headed for the Sheriff's Department.

"Boy, you smell like..." Chuck shook his head when his longtime friend entered the cubicle that they shared.

"Don't even go there – it's been a bad afternoon." Plopping down behind the desk he popped the top on the water and downed half of it.

"Heard you had a go-round with Oglesby."

"Yep." The detective found a message from Martinez telling him the form that he needed to fill out for the incident report. After finding it, he put it aside and instead began looking up information on his victim. Charles Eli Nighthawk had been twenty two years old and a former Navy medical corpsman honorably discharged just six weeks earlier after serving four years aboard the _U.S.S. Harry S. Truman._ Downing the other half of the water he continued reading about the young man who had grown up rough in Brownsville and Galveston, bounced from home to home of relatives while his father was in prison and his mother in and out of jail for drugs and prostitution. Nighthawk had managed to stay on the straight and narrow, graduated from high school in Galveston with decent enough grades and immediately signed up for a tour in the Navy – a smart view in Houston's opinion given the state of his family's dysfunction and the poor economy. Work at a small brewery situated in the 2300 block of Nance Street had brought him to the area. His license had been updated only a week before and the address on it showed that he was living in an apartment not far from the station where Matt now sat.

"Houston..." Francine Martinez approached. "Have you got the incident report filled out?"

"No ma'am – I felt like the victim rated higher than Oglesby." He leaned back in the chair.

"He got all that dirt on you?" She looked in disbelief.

"The majority of it – I put on a clean shirt before I left the house. I'm sure I picked some up tracking where the killer went on the property."

"Unbelievable." She sat down in a spare chair between the two desks. "So what do you know about the victim?" Pulling out her phone she sent a text as he began telling her what little he had. "I've seen the pictures that Michelle took where Oglesby tore up the scene. I'm seriously considering bringing him up on charges of tampering with evidence."

"You won't hear me complaining."

"And assault on an officer..." She gave him a look as Chuck's head shot up from the paperwork he was just finishing up from the gang fight. "She told me about that, too...what I want to know is why didn't you?"

"Quite frankly I'm more concerned about Nighthawk. Oglesby isn't the first one to give me a hard time over my qualifications...doubt he'll be the last."

An officer showed up with two shirts and an evidence bag handing the bag to the sheriff. "I need your shirt."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope. I'm throwing the book at him, Houston: he's been nothing but trouble since the day I got here. He's already gone to the union rep and filed a complaint on you."

"Pffft." The cowboy stood up and carefully removed the shirt, putting it into the evidence bag and then thanking the officer for the two that he handed over.

"Nice tats by the way." Martinez gave him a smile. "I never would have figured you for the type."

"I keep hearing that...can't wait to add to the left arm." He grinned as he thought about adding Tomás and the names of his sons that were due in late September. With the clean polo shirt on he settled down behind the desk and then wrinkled his nose.

"Still don't smell any better do ya?" Chuck snickered and reached into the drawer of his desk, tossing his friend a can of deodorant. "Give yourself a few shots...not perfect but maybe you'll be a little more tolerable."

"Thanks." Houston did and tossed the can back over, wrote down the work address of the victim and started to leave.

"No..." Martinez held up her hand. "Let Chuck track that down. I want that report filled out now."

"Hand it over, pard." Chuck took the paper and left.

Sighing as he sat down behind the desk, Houston started in on the report and in just a few minutes had it completed, saved a copy for himself and then handed the finished product to the boss as his phone rang. "Yeah, Chuck?"

"Help..." The line went dead and Matt started running for the door.

"What happened?"

"Don't know..." He hit the hallway dodging past officers headed for the parking lot. "Chuck just got out "help" before the call was disconnected." Starting for his truck he heard Martinez yell.

"No! My truck!" They both loaded up, sirens blaring before they ever left the parking lot, the sheriff calling in an officer needs assistance call and giving the address that the detective had been going to check out as they barreled through the traffic heading east toward the brewery that was situated on the edge of Buffalo Bayou.

Whipping into the parking lot, three other department vehicles behind them, Matt spotted the SUV that Chuck had been using. "There's his truck..." Martinez stomped on the accelerator and in seconds the cowboy could see his childhood friend lying on the gravel parking lot, a puddle of blood at his head. The vehicle hadn't even stopped before he was out of it and skidding down on his knees. "Chuck!" He looked at the man he had known for over thirty years, his face beaten and bloodied. "Come on, pard...talk to me..." A lump welled up in his throat as he could hear Martinez calling for an ambulance and CSI. Trying his best to stay calm he checked for a pulse and found one. "Come on, Chuck..." He gripped his hand. In a couple of minutes which seemed more like hours an ambulance arrived and as soon as he was loaded onboard, Houston sprang inside beside him, still holding his hand as he answered question after question for the paramedic who was trying to stabilize him during the three and half mile trek to the nearest emergency room. As he was wheeled inside a nurse intercepted the detective.

"I'm sorry – you'll have to stay out here."

"But..."

"I'm sorry. We'll let you know how he's doing." Sinking down onto a bench Matt put his head in his hands as the sheriff entered.

"How is he?"

"Don't know...he was...he's breathing and all." The detective's voice shook and her hand landed on his shoulder.

"He's tough, Houston. C'mon..."

"It should have been me there." The whole time they had been en route to the brewery that thought had continued to go through his head almost like a chant. "I gotta call Lisa."

"I've already had that taken care of..."

"Thanks." His next thought was of CJ and he pulled out his phone then hesitated, not wanting to upset her but knowing that if he didn't tell her she would be pissed. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm down a little he pushed her number on speed dial.

"Hey, Cowboy – on the way home?"

"No..."

"What's wrong?" She knew immediately that something had happened.

"Chuck..." His voice cracked. "Chuck's been hurt. He's uh...he's at St. Joseph. We just brought him in."

"What in the world happened?"

"I'm not sure – looks like he was beaten. His head is..." His voice failed him as a mix of fear and anger washed over him.

"What about Lisa and the kids?"

"Hang on." Looking at his boss he asked her if any arrangements had been made about the kids.

"I've got an officer staying there with them now."

"Babe, do you think Marty would go over and bring 'em back to the ranch? I'd feel better and I'm sure Lisa would, too."

"Not a problem. I'll take care of it. Love you."

"Love you, too." He hung up drawing in another deep breath, realizing then that a cup of coffee was being handed to him by Martinez. "Thanks."

Time seemed to stand still, Matt's mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He and Chuck had been through all kinds of things together as kids: the first day of school, playground fights, flirting with girls, double dates, working on cars and trucks, graduation...and then they had drifted apart for a while as their paths diverged for a few years. Then while the PI was in Houston checking into the deaths of some of his former rodeo competitors their paths had crossed again and it had been like they picked up the conversation from where they had left off years before. He thought back to when he had taken time off from the detective agency when CJ was pregnant with Catey Rose, coming back to the Houston ranch to get it up and running cattle again. Chuck had been right there to help him. They had worked, talked, fished, laughed, and counseled each other about married life and now about children. Chuck and his wife had five kids; Matt had made sure that when he joined the department the winter before that his best friend understood that he and his family would be taken care of, just like Vince and Michael and their families. It had never occurred to him that he might have to do that without his friend there.

"Baby?" CJ was suddenly there and he stood up throwing his arms around her. Silently she stroked his hair and hung onto him, the pair finally breaking the embrace as Lisa ran into the waiting room, trying her best to hold it together.

"Houston? What happened? I want to see him."

"They're trying to get him sorted out right now, hon. Come here." He gave her a hug and then helped her to sit down on the bench.

"What in the hell happened?"

"I'm not sure..." He began telling her what they were working on and how Chuck had gone to interview Nighthawk's employer.

"Mrs. Wylie?" A young doctor looked between CJ and Lisa who stood up.

"I'm Lisa Wylie." She took a deep breath.

"Dr. Wolfe. Would you prefer to go to the consultation room?" He gestured over his shoulder.

"No, these are my friends. Now how is Chuck?"

"Detective Wylie has suffered a moderate to severe concussion; his right zygomatic arch has been fractured. We've already done x-rays and are preparing him for a CT scan to determine the exact location and the extent of..."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"The severity of the concussion..."

"Is he going to be okay or not?!" She burst into tears and Matt's arm went around her, holding her up as her knees buckled.

"Mrs. Wylie...we just don't know yet."

"I want to see him."

"It might not be advise..."

"Now..." She gathered herself together, her left hand gripping Matt's.

"Follow me." He turned and led the way into one of the treatment rooms with Lisa following pulling the cowboy in tow. Four nurses and technicians were around the cop who was hooked up to IV's, a heart monitor...wires everywhere. The swelling of his face, the bruises, and the gash that was being cleaned up were hard to take. "He's unconscious."

Nodding she approached the bedside. "Hey, Chuck..." Tears filled her eyes again and she swiped them away. "You better get your butt in gear, mister. The kids and I need you at home." Raising his hand she kissed it. "Houston's here with me."

Reaching up he took his friend's hand as well. "Pard, we need you to get on back to work." Trying to sound normal was proving near to impossible for him but with Lisa needing someone to be strong right now he did his best. "You got the sheriff out here waiting on ya. She's pretty patient but you better not be too long, ya hear?"

"I'm sorry – you'll have to leave now." Wolfe stepped forward and ushered them from the room after she kissed his hand once more. Back out in the hallway he spoke again. "The CT scan will determine if we need to try to relieve pressure on the brain or if he'll need corrective surgery on the bone that's broken."

"Thank you." She let Matt lead her back over to the bench where CJ wrapped an arm around her. They had known each other since the age of ten, and although not as close as their husbands were, they got along well. "Houston..." He knelt down in front of her. "I want whoever did this...I want you to get them."

"I know..." Looking down for a minute he took a deep breath. "Lisa...I'm sorry. It should have been me there. I was supposed to..."

"You were following orders." Francine spoke up, sounding upset. "I told Chuck to take that interview. If it's anyone's fault it's mine." Looking down at Lisa she spoke again. "We'll get whoever is responsible."

"Thank you."

"CJ, can I talk to you for just a minute?" Matt helped his wife to her feet and walked down the hall a short distance. "You don't need to be here, Babe. Go on home."

"I can't just leave her here."

"Well..." He thought it over. "Do you think Sheila would come help out? Madre Rosa can help with the kids...Tomás is great with Catey and I'm sure he'll be a big help with the others, too. And if you were there you could still get plenty of rest."

"But..."

"CJ, the only restriction that Carol placed on you was getting enough rest." He watched as she chewed her bottom lip. "Plus you know Chuck's mom will be here soon. I'm gonna call Sheila." Pulling out his phone he dialed her number, watching as his wife went back to Lisa's side. Turning away he noticed for the first time that Ollie Burckhardt was there. "Sheila, I really hate to ask you..."

"Hush – when do you need me to be there?"

"As soon as you can. CJ doesn't need to be here...I..."

"Uh huh..." She began going up the steps to gather some items. "I told her that before she left. At least she let Ollie drive her there."

"I really appreciate it. Do you think you can find it?"

"I just Goggled it – I'm good to go."

"Knew I'd be calling you, huh?"

"I'd be mad if you didn't. See you in a little bit."

Motioning the older cowboy over, Matt thanked him for bringing CJ and asked him to keep an extra eye out for any trouble at the ranch. "You know we will. Just get whoever did this; I happen to think a lot of that young fella."

"I appreciate it." Going back to the group he assured his friend's wife that the kids would be no problem at the ranch. "I'm gonna go now. I'll check back in later." After receiving a hug from her and a kiss from his own wife, he stood and looked at Martinez who nodded without saying a word, the pair heading down the hall and out to her SUV. "What have they got so far?"

"Joe Sparks is working on trying to retrieve any surveillance videos and interviewing folks working at the brewery. He's also asking about Nighthawk in the process." Matt nodded; he had met Sparks right after Chuck had been promoted to detective and he seemed like a nice guy.

"CSI..."

Matt's voice dropped to a growl, surprising Martinez. "It better not be Oglesby..."

"He's suspended right now pending investigation."

"Sorry..."

"No need. Anyway, CSI is working to find out whatever they can on scene...you know how that works. I plan on going there first."

"Good." Taking a big breath and letting it out, the cowboy tried to get his brain to shift gears from concerned friend to professional detective and was struggling.

"I would normally say that you shouldn't be working this case."

"No offense, but I'm working it whether you like it or not." Houston glanced over at her as she nodded.

"I knew you would. Looks like you've got a new partner." They pulled into the lot behind the building, a small start-up operation that was just beginning to take off in the highly-competitive microbrewery business. As he exited the truck the detective recognized the CSI on the scene; he had met Chris Eversong on the same case as Joe Sparks and had heard nothing but good things about him.

"Chris..." He nodded at the man as they approached the yellow tape fluttering in the breeze, raising it for the sheriff to walk underneath before himself.

"Houston. How is he?"

"Out. Got a broken uh..." He motioned to his face.

"Zygomatic arch." Martinez finished for him. "And a concussion."

"He gonna be alright?" Eversong didn't like the shrug he got. "Man, he's got five kids."

"Yep." Houston tried to get the professional detective going again. "And we're gonna catch the SOB that did this to their daddy. What have you got?"

"Not a lot I'm afraid. I didn't get to see Chuck – were there any defensive wounds on his hands?"

"Not that I saw." Matt walked around trying to find something – anything – that would point him in the right direction.

"I've dusted the SUV – so far all the prints come back to Chuck. Found his cell phone here and the last call was to you..." The tech nodded at Houston. "The only thing I've found that even halfway looks hinky is this dent right here." He pointed to the mirror on the driver's side. "Looks pretty fresh. I've swabbed it – we'll see if we've got anything there."

Matt and Martinez both leaned forward looking at the indentation. "Looks cylindrical." He circled the SUV once again, stopping on the passenger side to look under it and didn't spot anything then turned and looked toward the bayou. The professional was having a really tough time keeping the childhood friend at bay. Pulling out his phone he called Lisa. "Any change?"

"No. They say he's stable."

"Well, that's a start. Listen, did they give you his personal items?"

"Yeah, they're right here in my purse."

"Could you look and see if anything is missing?" Walking back toward the driver's side he continued to look as he waited.

"Wallet, keys, badge, holster..." She was doing her best to keep it together. "His notebook is here, too."

"Alright. I didn't really notice while ago – did he have any marks on his hands or arms?"

"Not that I saw."

"Okay..." He paused. "Sheila Wentworth is on her way there to help y'all out. She's Catey's nanny."

"Yeah, Chuck told me about her."

"She's also a registered nurse who happens to think a lot of him. She'll take good care of him if you'll let her."

"I appreciate that."

"I'm gonna stop back by there and get his notebook here in a bit." Both were quiet. "Has Miss Charlotte gotten there yet?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Okay. I'll see ya in a few." He hung up. "Apparently nothing was taken from him; Lisa says it's all there."

"So we can pretty much rule out robbery." Eversong shook his head. "He's a cop for Christ's sake..."

"Maybe somebody here knew he was going to ask around about Nighthawk." Martinez looked at the dented mirror again as Matt snapped a picture of it with his phone.

"Could be – and I've got somebody who's bored and wants to help – and she's about to get that chance." Houston turned back toward the SUV with Martinez in his wake.

Riding back to St. Joseph's with the sheriff, Matt placed a call to CJ who was now on her way back to the ranch. "Babe, I know it's going to be kinda hectic around there but I need my partner to help me out."

"You've got it: what do you want?" She reached into her bag and pulled out a notepad as Ollie drove them eastward toward the ranch.

"I want you to run a check on everyone at Moonshot Brewers."

"Okay..." She waited. "Anything else?"

"See if you can find out anything else about Nighthawk's family – what there is of it. I'll send you what I've got to get you started."

"Think Chuck spooked somebody?"

"Kinda looks that way. Thanks."

"He's my friend, too, you know." She paused for a minute. "Miss Charlotte is pretty upset."

"No doubt. I'm about to get Chuck's notebook and see if there's anything there that would point us anywhere. Talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you, Cowboy. 'Bye." Hanging up she looked at the wallpaper on her phone. It was a picture she had snapped earlier in the day of Matt and Tomás when they had been working side by side on the bunkhouse. He was so happy then; it seemed like a week ago.

Back at the hospital, Matt spoke to Charlotte Wylie, got the notebook from Lisa, and then left with Martinez again, this time headed to Nighthawk's apartment. While they had no proof that the case and the attack on Chuck were linked they didn't have much else to go on. Reading through his friend's notebook didn't offer any help that he could see, and after explaining to the landlady what had happened they were allowed into the small one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Aside from the usual couch, bed, TV, and chair there wasn't much there. He had only been living there for a little over a week and his time in the Navy had evidently kept him in the habit of being neat. His clean clothes were folded and put away, the dirty ones in a laundry bag in the bathroom. Other than disposable razors and some Tylenol there was nothing in the medicine cabinet. The personal papers they found were minimal: tax returns for the last four years, a diploma, a few photos from his time on the _Harry S. Truman_, and check stubs from both the Navy and his job at the brewery. The only banking information that they found was from an account in Norfolk, Virginia where his ship had been based. It had been closed when he left there five weeks earlier and made his way back to Houston, the evidence of his bus travel being the receipts for the tickets. "Boy, this guy was neat." Martinez looked around. "No computer anywhere either."

They drove back to the department in silence, Houston looking out the passenger side window, his mind on his friend, the thought that it should have been him there in the parking lot still echoing through his thoughts. Maybe it would have turned out differently...maybe. His phone rang, bringing him out of his reverie. "Yeah, Lisa?"

"They're going to have to do surgery on his face..." He could hear the relief flood her voice. "But his brain is okay."

"That's great news." He told Martinez. "Has he come to yet?"

"No, they're going to keep him sedated until after the surgery in the morning." She sounded shaky but much happier. "They say he should make a full recovery."

Breathing out a sigh of relief the cowboy found himself having a hard time answering. "Phew..." He swallowed hard. "You need me to come over there?"

"No, we're good. I finally talked Miss Charlotte into going home. Sheila and I will be here for him. Thank you for sending her here – she's really a big help translating some of their medical jargon."

"She's a great lady. God knows she's taken care of me enough times."

"Well...have you found out anything yet?"

"Not really. We're working on it though."

"Okay, well...guess I better let you go. Thanks." The call ended and Houston felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"Houston, you need to go home and get some rest. We'll hit the ground running in the morning. Fresh eyes can make a big difference and maybe CSI will have something that we can use." She parked the truck in the lot. "I'll get this stuff logged in – go home to CJ...and all those extra little people running around the ranch."

Matt looked at his watch: almost midnight. "They better be in the bed." He gave a chuckle as he slid out of the truck and into his own and began the thirty mile drive to the ranch. It was almost twenty minutes to one by the time he parked and got out, popping his back before closing the door on the vehicle and making his way up the back steps to the kitchen door. Once inside he reset the alarm and headed upstairs to his bedroom, wanting first a shower and then the comfort of his bed for a few hours of sleep before trying to sort out all the chaos that he had encountered in the last several hours. CJ was on the bed hard at work on the laptop, Chuck's youngest child - three year old Daphne - curled up next to her asleep. "He's gonna be okay." Matt leaned over and kissed his wife, then headed for the bathroom and a much-needed shower. Slipping into the bed the pair kissed again, and he looked at his friend's daughter in the sliver of light that shone through the window. "She looks like him."

"Yeah." CJ tucked the covers up around the little girl who momentarily woke and crawled over to her Uncle Matt, snuggling down with her arm thrown over his chest. "Looks like I won't have my usual spot tonight." She gave a little laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Thursday morning dawned hot and humid and Matt was up and gone by 6:30 after deciding to shave for the first time in over a year; the Texas heat and the beard were not a good combination. Stopping for a cup of coffee on the way to the hospital he thought about what they had to work with on both cases, unable to lose the feeling that they might be connected. He found Lisa, Sheila, Miss Charlotte, and Chuck's great-uncle Ferris in the waiting room. Former Ranger Ferris was the first to see him and a smile crossed his face. "Now that's the face I remember right there – no fuzz." He stood and shook with the man.

"Wow! I haven't seen that look in quite a while." Sheila gave him a big smile.

"Kinda got warm under there yesterday." Matt gave a grin then turned to Miss Charlotte and Lisa. "How's he doing this morning?"

"Pretty good. He seemed to rest good last night. They've got him scheduled for surgery at ten o'clock." Although she looked tired, the cop's wife appeared immensely relieved. "Have you heard anything else?"

Shaking his head the detective took a sip of the coffee. "Not yet – I'm on my way there. Had CJ doing some checking for me last night and I'm going to sift through that and whatever the lab might have." He saw the look of disappointment on her face. "I'm gonna get whoever the bastard is that did this – don't worry." The low tone of his voice and the angry look in his eye were unmistakable. Looking at his watch he started to leave. "Oh, and when he wakes up – tell him I said his youngest is a bed hog." The grin he gave them as he looked back over his shoulder caused the group to crack up.

"Somebody's in for an ass-whoopin'." Ferris sat back down as Charlotte tried to shush him. "I'm not gonna be quiet: it's the truth. Those two have been tight as kernels of corn on a cob for over thirty years. I can guarantee you it'll happen."

As he pulled into the lot at the department, the detective looked over to where Chuck's personal vehicle was still parked and an idea came to him. Removing his phone from his shirt pocket he dialed Lisa's number. "Hey, I know you've got Chuck's keys there, but would you have a problem if I looked around in his truck – see if anything might give me some ideas?"

"Of course not. Want me to bring them over?"

"I can get in without 'em – just wanted to be sure you were okay with it."

"Okay...uh, well yeah, go ahead."

"See ya." Sliding out of his own truck he flipped through some information on his phone, pressed a button and the door locks disengaged.

"Got the keys?" Francine Martinez's voice came over his shoulder.

"No ma'am – but I did get Lisa's okay." He slipped on a pair of gloves and began looking through the truck, first under the seats where he found a collection of candy wrappers and small toys, then he slid inside and looked on the visor finding only the usual items that he expected. Next was the console where he found a supply of notebooks that the detective used in his job. All were new and unused, and other than napkins, gloves, shoe covers, pens, and several rolls of breath mints there was nothing else. Stopping when he got to the mints, Martinez caught a look on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing...just thinking back to the first case I helped y'all with...Chuck didn't know about the breath mint trick to help with the decomp smell."

"And you told him." She smiled.

"Yep. I just came from the hospital." Filling her in he reached over and found the glove box locked. He pulled out a small multi-tool from his pocket, quickly opened the lock with a small screwdriver, and took a look through the usual maps, registration, and insurance papers.

"That's some good news. Ever considered a career as a car thief?"

"Think I would tell you if I did?" He gave her a crooked grin and popped the hatch, sliding down from the cab and going to the back along with the sheriff but finding nothing out of the ordinary. "Well..." Closing everything back up he made sure it was secured. "I didn't really expect to find anything but at least now we know." The pair walked inside and down to the squad room where he took a seat at the desk and looked through the couple of messages that were there, the first from Michelle Rodolfo. Picking up the phone he dialed her extension and stared across at his friend's desk. "Hey there – it's Houston; did you find anything?"

"Let's see here..." Up in the lab she pulled up the file on Charles Nighthawk. "The ME is scheduled to handle Nighthawk's autopsy at 9:00 but they say that the apparent cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head. Looks to be a .22. The baling twine can be picked up practically anywhere around here and there were no epithelials found other than the victim's. Evidently he was in his work clothing: there were traces of hops on the shirt but that's about all we've got on him. How's Chuck?"

Matt informed her. "What about the trail cams?"

"I'm about to run them. Let you know if I find anything on 'em."

He thanked her for her help, hanging up the phone and passing along the information to Martinez as he accessed the information he had gathered on Nighthawk and sent it to CJ, finding as he did so that she had left him some information on two of the employees at Moonshot Brewers. The first was Lonnie James Beidermier, one of the brewers at the plant who had a record of assaulting an employee at his last place of employment; the other was Renee Walters, a secretary who had a class C misdemeanor on her record for shoplifting some years earlier.

The phone on his desk rang and Chris Eversong was on the other end, the first words out of his mouth were, "How's he doing?" Once again Matt gave the good news.

"Have you got anything there?"

"All the prints came back to Chuck like I said last night. The dent is proving to be interesting, though."

"I'm putting you on speaker so the sheriff can hear – don't cuss." He punched the button. "Go ahead."

"I was saying the dent is interesting. There's some kind of pattern on whatever it was that was used. I've sent a picture of it to your email." He waited as the detective found the message and opened it, Martinez coming around the desk and looking as well.

"Kinda looks like the grips on a ratchet or something to me." Houston looked up at the sheriff who nodded her agreement. "Did you check to see if there was any transfer?"

"That's running right now. Other than that – I don't have anything for you."

"I appreciate the help, bud. Talk to you later." Hanging up he blew up the picture and stared at it for a minute. "We need to get a look at the pictures that were made of Chuck's head last night at the ER. Who handled that?"

"One of the techs in the ER – they automatically do it when someone comes in with a wound like that. I'll call over there." She sat down behind Chuck's desk and began dialing as Houston went to the coffee pot to refill his cup, taking the opportunity to call CJ and update her on their friend's condition. He had barely had time to kiss her goodbye that morning what with all the extra kids running through the house. Madre Rosa was in her element and happier than Matt could remember seeing her in a long time; she absolutely loved kids. Pouring another cup for the sheriff he went back to the cubicle as she was in the middle of a none-too-pleasant discussion with someone on the other end of the line. "I want those pictures found now: they're valuable evidence." With that she hung up, a flash of anger in her eyes. "They can't find them!"

Handing her the cup he leaned against the front of his own desk, thinking quietly as he sipped, the feeling of the Nighthawk case and Chuck's being connected taking a screeching turn in a new direction in his mind. Very quietly he spoke. "Do you think Oglesby could have anything to do with it?"

"He was already on suspension." She watched as he worked through the thought. "But..." Leaning back in the chair she took a sip. "It does seem kind of odd that evidence suddenly turns up missing right after I lowered the boom on him."

"Not to tell you your business...but he needs to be banned from the building and his log in information to the system needs to be locked down."

"You're right." She made a call to the IT division. After hanging up she shook her head. "I've never had to deal with anything quite like this before."

"I'm surprised you haven't already locked horns with him. The first day I saw him was when I was working the Dietrich murder/arsons and he was none too complimentary about either of us. I seriously doubt if he knew me from Adam, but since you were his boss..." Walking around behind the desk he sat down and propped his feet, a grimace coming across his face until he sat up and popped his back. "It just seemed stupid. I mean anybody can dislike their boss – but to make a point of it openly just lacked good judgment."

"It may come as a surprise to you..." She smirked. "...but some men just don't like working for a woman."

"No, I believe I've heard that sentiment before." Stopping, he popped his back again and leaned back with a sigh.

"What's with the back?"

He shrugged. "Kinda gets out of whack since the bomb blast in the parking garage of my office – got slammed into the railing of the elevator and it needs a little help getting home sometimes. Anyway..." He took a sip. "...like I put in the report yesterday he made a comment about my qualifications as well as yours. Now since he doesn't really know me and most likely hasn't done any research on me, that's not unusual. For some reason folks just don't get that I was in Army Intelligence: my training was done on the federal level. Granted, I didn't sit for a sergeant's exam here – maybe that's what he's pissed about..." After the words left his mouth he grabbed the keyboard in front of him and began working it. "Hmmm...can you get into his personnel file?" Matt knew that with a few minutes time he could have accessed the records himself but thought it was better not to let the boss know that fact.

"I _am_ the sheriff..." She picked up Chuck's keyboard and retrieved the information as the cowboy walked over to join her.

"Well, looky there, the little lady can type...can you make coffee and take dictation, too?" He received an elbow to the gut as he chuckled. "Let's see here...Gregory Allen Oglesby, age 48, divorced twice...not surprising...worked on patrol for _sixteen_ years before making sergeant. Attended classes at a local college to move to a job with CSI...not exactly tops in his class."

"He was promoted by the previous sheriff." She gave a discontented expression.

"I never had any dealings with him directly...but there were some of his folks on the Cody payroll back a few years ago." As he moved back over to lean on the front of his desk, Matt thought back to the death of his biological father Wade Mattlock at the hands of an impostor that Elgin Cody had brought in to swindle him out of some land that he had set aside for a wildlife preserve.

"He..." Francine paused and looked around. "He was a member of the good ole boys club. Not that that's _always_ a bad thing really, but in this case it was. Quite a few things got taken care of – swept under the rug on his watch. There were a couple of DUI's that I know of for sure and an assault. I swore that the county deserved better – that's why I decided to run for office. There are a lot of people out there who don't like me; my first day on the job I started cleaning house." She tapped her finger on the desk. "There were three detective's in this office alone that I terminated. That's when Chuck got promoted." Looking at the man's desk where she sat her eyes landed on a picture of his family that he kept there. "I had met him a year or so before – and he was dedicated - went out of his way to help people." Looking across at Houston she saw the serious look on his face. "He didn't know it, but I overheard him one day at the cafe up the street." Smiling she thought back. "He was talking about you and how you helped people with your detective agency – said that's what he wanted to do."

Houston looked down at his hands. "I'm not helping him much by standing around here..." He started pacing and thinking over the case...or was it cases? They still didn't know for sure. "Until we can get those pictures from the hospital and compare them we're not going to get too far with the weapon used on Chuck." He looked at his watch. "I'm gonna go to Nighthawk's autopsy later. Maybe something will shake loose." He turned toward the chair and then stopped. "What about Joe Sparks? Have you seen him?"

"No...and he should have a report for me." She punched the keyboard. "Nothing..." She pulled out her phone and dialed his number, but didn't receive an answer.

"Nothing?"

"No..." She hung up and made another phone call to dispatch. "Have we had any contact with Detective Sparks today?" Shaking her head she stood up, a grim look on her face. "What about the GPS locator on his car?" She snatched up a notepad off of the desk and began writing. "Thanks. No, I'm going to check it out myself." The pair started for the door. "His vehicle is at his home – Main and 13th in Galena Park."

Loading up in Martinez's SUV, they headed east on I-10 and then south on Mercury Drive, following until it turned into Main Street in Galena Park. The house, though an older one, was in great condition with a white picket fence surrounding a small but well-maintained yard. "Is he married?" Houston slid from the vehicle first walking over to the department car that the long-time detective drove; the hood was cool.

"Widower." Martinez opened the gate and the pair headed to the front door stopping as they saw that the screen door as well as the wooden door were both slightly ajar. Both removed their weapons, Matt taking the left side of the door and easing it open with the toe of his boot. The sheriff spoke up. "Joe? It's Francine. You okay in there?" No response was heard. She nodded at Houston and both quickly slipped on gloves before going any further. Opening the screen door, the cowboy pointed out that the spring mechanism was detached and hanging, allowing the door to completely open back against the front of the house. He then eased the wooden door open and entered, noticing that it was dark inside except for a light in the kitchen. Both cops pulled flashlights out of the backs of their utility belts and began clearing the house.

"He's in here..." Houston had just cleared the den and then started on the kitchen where the detective was on his left side on the floor. Feeling for a pulse he shook his head as Martinez entered the room; he saw her expression change from worry to sorrow.

"No..." Holstering her pistol she moved closer.

"I don't see a mark on him anywhere." Matt looked over the man who appeared to have been getting a drink of water, a glass and puddle of water on the floor.

Silently, a tear slipped down her cheek as she knelt down next to him. "No..." Reaching out she shook his shoulder.

"He's gone; has been for quite a while." He eased her back to her feet. The pair walked out of the house and to the small parking area, Martinez leaning her head against the frame of the SUV while Houston called in for CSI and the Coroner's Office. Hanging up he put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Turning to look at the house she wiped away tears, quickly looking around. "I can't let anybody see me like this."

"Get in." He opened the passenger side door and helped her in, leaning against the door frame. "I take it you two knew each other well?"

"Yeah..." She cleared her throat. "Joe was my FTO when I came on board." Smiling she thought back. "He wasn't overly thrilled with having a female partner." Giving a small laugh she removed the gloves and wiped at her eyes again. "When I was done with my training he apologized for being so hard on me and said that I had changed his mind about women in the department. He was the first one who suggested that I run for Sheriff and worked hard on the campaign."

"And that's why you don't want anyone to see you crying...because you're a woman." He watched as she nodded.

"It isn't like it used to be but there are still people out there – men and women alike – who think that we shouldn't show any emotion at all."

"Guess I shot that all to hell last night." He looked around. "I understand better than you think I do – I'm married to a lady lawyer. Some of the remarks that still get made these days about women just..." Shaking his head he looked back up at her. "She's tougher than a lot of men that I know – she had to be growing up."

"I tried to promote him to lieutenant after I was elected – but he didn't want any part of it. Said he was perfectly happy just like he was and didn't want it to change."

Houston's phone rang. "Chris, what's up?"

"I just got the call to Joe's house." There was obvious upset in his voice. "Is he really dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Damn..."

"I don't see a mark on him."

"I swear if somebody hurt him..."

"Easy, bud. One thing at a time. It doesn't look like that at all." He walked toward the curb where the garbage can was sitting awaiting pickup. Next to it was the box for the large TV that the detective had seen in the den. "Look, I'm gonna go back in and take a look around some more."

"Be there in about five minutes." The tech hung up, cursing under his breath.

"Will you be okay out here?" Houston looked at Martinez who had blown her nose and was now sliding out of the vehicle.

"I'm gonna go back in..."

"Why don't you try talking to the neighbors?" He motioned to the house next door where a curtain was moving.

"Okay." She nodded and pulled a notebook out of the console and approached the front door that was opened before she reached the step, the elderly lady asking about her neighbor and bursting into tears when she heard the news.

Back inside, Matt began looking around. Joe Sparks had been a cop for going on thirty years. Photo after photo on the walls of the house documented his time with the department. Stopping in front of one in particular the cowboy smiled. It was a picture of Sparks, Martinez, and four other officers at a bar, all toasting the camera. Walking into the kitchen he found a receipt on the table from WaldoMart dated the night before. Joe had checked out at about midnight with the TV. Wandering back into the den he looked over the sixty inch screen, thinking to himself that it was quite a bit for one person to handle by themselves, but given the late hour, he probably hadn't had anyone that he could ask for help with it. The cowboy had a feeling that Joe's death had been natural. He had been about sixty years old. Nothing seemed out of place in the house and he went back outside as Eversong pulled up. "Chris, I think maybe he had a heart attack."

The tech was visibly shaken. "Bad as it sounds I hope that's what it was."

"Better than somebody hurting him." Motioning to the TV packaging he nodded toward the house. "He got the TV last night; the spring on the door is disengaged so it would stand open. Bet he overdid it trying to get it in there by himself."

Shaking his head, Eversong made his way inside as the detective's phone rang. "Yeah, Michelle?"

"Please tell me it isn't true..." There was no mistaking the tears on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, it is. But I think it was natural."

"Oh, God. And he was by himself." She swiped at tears and blew her nose. "I, uh...sorry." Blowing again she came back on the line. "I ran the SD cards from the trail cams – we've got somebody besides Devereux on there; it might be our killer."

Looking at his watch Houston tried to decide what to do; he was pretty sure that Sparks death wasn't anything other than natural and knew how upset Martinez was but he also knew that they had other work to do. He looked up to find the sheriff approaching him. "Can you hang on a minute, hon?"

"Sure." Michelle blew her nose again and walked into her office, sitting down behind the desk and taking a sip of coffee as she listened to him talking to someone else, then heard the sheriff tell him to go ahead.

"I'll be back there quick as I can. Thanks." Houston hung up as the van from the Coroner's Office pulled up.

"We'll get the keys to Joe's patrol car...you can take it back to the station for him." Martinez tried to give him a smile. "He liked you, you know. Said he couldn't believe it when he found out you weren't going to go pro."

"Lot of folks were surprised." He followed the others back inside and took the keys.

"I've called the motor pool – there's an SUV waiting for you. Just drop this one off to them and take that."

"Yes ma'am." Going back outside he slid behind the wheel, adjusting the seat back a couple of notches before starting the engine and heading back to the department. As he drove along he thought about Vince and Michael; both men had spent years being stressed out by multiple cases at one time and had commented that he was lucky to be able to pick and choose what he wanted to work on. That was no longer a luxury for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Back at the Sheriff's Department, Houston dropped off Joe Spark's patrol car and received the SUV that had been assigned to him before going inside and up to the lab. Although it was obvious that she had been crying, Michelle Rodolfo was hard at work. Gently putting his hand on her shoulder he spoke. "So what does our guy look like?"

"He's fairly good size..." Bringing up the pictures of him on the screen she stepped aside.

"About six-one or two, two hundred pounds maybe?"

"That would be my guess."

"Can't really tell much about his face, though. But now we know that the body was placed there during the daylight hours." He looked through the progression of pictures as the man drew closer to the camera, dropped the body and left. "Kinda bold going there during the day, don't you think?"

"Uh huh." She hit several keys and handed him a flash drive with the images on it. "He didn't show up on the other two cameras."

"Alright." The detective looked at his watch. "Devereux is supposed to be here pretty soon."

"He can have these back. I've already got what we need off of them – no sense in him being out his SD cards."

"I'll give them to him. Thanks." He left and went back down to the squad room just as an officer brought the man back to make his statement. "Mr. Devereux, thanks for coming by...I've got something that I need you to look at – see if this guy looks familiar."

"Okay..." He sat down in the offered chair as Matt popped in the flash drive and turned the monitor. Shaking his head he spoke. "I don't recognize him. Man, he did that during the day?!"

"Uh huh. Were your time stamps accurate?"

"Sure were – that way I would know what time the deer were coming through."

"So he was there about 6:30 yesterday morning."

"My Lord. So close to the house and Marcy was there all alone..."

"One thing about it..." Houston sat down behind the desk. "...the fact that it was during the daytime was a plus for us – no flash to give away the fact that the camera was activated."

"That's true. I just...that's too close to home."

"Tell me about it – I live about fifteen miles north of you." He blew out a breath and rubbed at his eyes before picking up a notepad. "If you'll just write down exactly what happened yesterday from the time you rode down to check the cameras I would appreciate it. And could you call your wife to ask her if she heard or saw anything yesterday morning?"

"Sure – let me do that first." He dialed his cell phone and spoke to her, shaking his head at Matt. "Yeah, that's when it was...No, not right now...Love you, too. 'Bye." Hanging up he looked at the detective. "Marcy didn't hear a thing – said she had the washer and dryer going from about 6:15 until about 7:30 or so."

"Okay..." Houston leaned back in the chair and looked at his watch. He was still planning on going to the autopsy if he could make it there on time. Chuck's surgery came to mind and he wanted to be there for his friend and his family, but felt like he could accomplish more by working than by sitting in a waiting room. A few minutes later Devereux handed over the pad. "I reckon that's about it."

"Can you hang tight for a few minutes while I type this up?"

"Sure – whatever you need. It's not like I've got anywhere to be."

"If it isn't convenient..."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I'm looking for a job right now...without much luck."

Pulling up a word processing program Houston looked across the desk at him. "What kind of work do you do?"

"A little of this and that. I've farmed, ranched, done construction...pretty much whatever I could over the years. If I don't find something soon Marcy and I are gonna lose what little we've managed to keep."

Matt nodded and began running a background check on Devereux as he started the report. By the time he was done so was the check. After printing out the man's statement he handed it over for him to read through and sign. In the meantime he looked at the background check that came up clean. "Now I've got another question for you."

"Shoot."

"What kind of ranching and construction?" He handed across the SD cards.

"I grew up taking care of horses but when folks quit having money to keep 'em up we switched to running cows. The construction part – well, anything that needs doing on a farm plus I've worked on a few houses and strip malls."

Houston looked at his watch again. "Can you walk with me?"

"Sure." Puzzled, the man followed the detective down the hallway and out into the parking lot.

"I want you to go talk to some folks..." Pulling out one of his business cards he jotted down CJ's cell number as well as the address for the ranch. "CJ is my wife. I think between her and myself we can keep you busy for quite a while. Just call that number and when you get to the gate at the ranch give whoever opens it that card. They'll take you to her."

"My God, Marcy was right: you're _that_ Houston."

Chuckling, Matt headed for the SUV, pulling his phone out and telling his wife to be expecting company. After telling her goodbye he held out his hand to Devereux. "I think we can help each other out a lot."

"I sure appreciate it – and I won't let you down."

"Talk to you later." Sliding behind the wheel, Houston headed southwest from the station to the Medical Examiner's office on Old Spanish Trail. During the short drive he thought about the work he was doing these days. He hadn't taken a private case in quite some time, instead concentrating on completing his course work for his Fire Investigation Training and helping out LAPD as well as a host of other agencies. That very morning he had been reminded by Francine Martinez of why he had opened the agency in the first place – to help people that the police were unable to help, and he began questioning himself once again about where he was heading in his life. Had he abandoned the detective agency in favor of being a cop, or was he just helping people in a different way these days? Lately that question had been bubbling to the surface of his mind frequently and when he pulled into the lot at the ME's office he still didn't have an answer.

"Detective Houston?" The female voice caused him to turn around from where he had been staring out the windows of the lobby at the darkening sky.

"Yes ma'am."

"Dr. Reena Chaudhri – Assistant Medical Examiner. I'll be conducting Mr. Nighthawk's autopsy."

"Nice to meet you."

"If you'd like you can come on back this way." She went down a hallway, turning into a room on the right where stacks of scrubs and hazmat suits were stocked. "Given the condition of the body you might want to put one of these on...I believe this one should fit." She handed over one of the white suits. "I've never seen you here before...have you witnessed an autopsy?"

"Yes ma'am – more than I would like."

Smiling she nodded. "I always ask. Not everyone has the stomach for it."

He nodded, stashed his holster in the locker that she pointed out to him, and donned the suit before following her on back. "I understand that the preliminary exam said that he was likely shot with a .22 in the head."

"That's what it looks like. Nasty little things, .22's."

"Tend to bounce and tear things up."

"That's putting it mildly." As she put on gloves and a mask she asked how long he had been with the department and he told her about his history there. "Okay, I remember hearing about that. Well, we're glad to have you here."

"I appreciate it." Standing close enough that he could see but far enough to keep out of the way, Matt watched as the area of the head wound was photographed and measured.

"Definitely a .22. It entered the back of his head here." The doctor continued her exam. "He also has some bruising on his head with an interesting pattern..." More photos were taken.

"May I?" After being given permission, Houston stepped closer. "That looks like what might have been used to attack Sergeant Wylie last night – we found an indentation on the mirror of his SUV that looks like a match."

"Was he working at the time?" Chaudhri was surprised.

"Yes ma'am – on this very case." Anger was starting to rise in the detective but so was a glimmer of hope. If they could get the pictures taken of Chuck's head wound and they were a match he would know for sure that the cases were one and the same.

"How is he?" She continued on with her exam.

"About to go into surgery." The emotion in Matt's voice gave away his concern.

"Friend of yours?"

"Thirty years worth."

"Wow...I certainly hope he'll recover." The exam continued; the bullet was recovered from where it was lodged against the front of the victim's skull, but not much else was found aside from some defensive wounds on Nighthawk's hands. Swabs were taken of the injuries and scrapings were taken from under his fingernails.

After thanking her, Matt took off the suit and put his holster back on, checking his phone as he left the building. Martinez had called and he pressed the button to call her back. "Yes ma'am?"

"Did you find out anything?" She was back in her office and looking at a stack of paperwork and a calendar full of commitments that didn't interest her in the least.

"Nighthawk was shot in the head with a .22...but he was also hit in the head with something that resembled what hit Chuck's mirror."

"Holy cow." Sitting up straight she felt a little hope. "So he was attacked because of the case."

"He was." Sliding behind the wheel, the detective pulled out his notebook. "Which really doesn't make me feel any better: I should have been the one there – not Chuck."

"Do we really need to go through this again?"

"I know – it won't do any good, but nothing is going to change how I feel about it. Anyway..." He started the engine. "I'm going to Moonshot Brewers and see about interviewing a couple of folks that CJ got a hit on last night."

"Just..."

"Yeah, I know – be careful." He gave a chuckle. "Call you when I get done."

"'Bye." She hung up, picked up the coffee cup and took a sip then began slogging through the budget requests that she had spent the morning dodging, knowing as she did that the case was being covered as thoroughly as it possibly could be, even if she wasn't the one investigating.

Matt pulled into the parking lot of a small convenience store a block from the Sheriff's Department and put on his vest. After Chuck's experience the night before at Moonshot he wasn't going to take any chances. He checked his watch and it was almost 11:30. Taking a minute he called Lisa's cell phone number. "How's he doing?"

Lisa spoke, sounding tired. "They gave us an update a few minutes ago. He's doing just fine."

"Good. I think I'm making some progress. I'll let you know later on. Do y'all need anything?"

"No – just for you to catch whoever did this. " She paused for a moment. "I heard about Joe Sparks. He was such a sweet man."

"Yeah, he's going to be missed. Guess I better get back to work." He hung up and then called to check on CJ, the sound of laughter the first thing he heard as she answered. "Sounds like there are some happy little folks around there."

"Uh huh. Tilly has been keeping them entertained. How's it going?" She walked out of the den and into the study, pulling the door to behind her and listening intently as he told her what they had. "Wow, broad daylight. Maybe he knows Ben's schedule?"

"I was wondering that. So I take it you've talked to him?"

"I have and I've got a good feeling about him, hon. Thanks for sending him this way. He's talking to Ollie and Marty right now about the bunkhouse and then they're going to go to the other property and run through the house to make a list of everything that needs to be done."

"He needs work and we need him. Simple enough. I ran a background check on him by the way – clean."

"I thought so." She knew how careful he was these days because of the kids. "Anyway, things are looking up."

"Except for Joe Sparks." He explained.

"That's so sad. Did he have any family?"

"Not sure, but I don't think so." He checked his watch again. "Gotta get back to work, Babe. Don't overdo it, okay?"

"I won't...but you be careful out there. Love you, Cowboy."

"Love you. 'Bye." Dropping the SUV into drive he went the few blocks to the Moonshot Brewery and pulled into the parking lot. As he went through the front doors he was greeted by one of the very people that he had come to interview – Renee Walters. A shoplifting conviction didn't make her a killer but with very few leads to go on, he wanted to get an impression for himself. After producing his badge he began asking what she knew about Nighthawk.

"Well..." The south Texas drawl was unmistakable as she spoke. "Don't guess I knew a whole lot about him. He had just gotten out of the Navy, I do know that."

"Did he have any problems with anyone here?"

"Don't think so."

"What exactly was his job?"

"He was a warehouse operator assigned to supply ingredients to the line."

"Like hops?"

"Uh huh."

"Alright. Can you tell me where I can find Lonnie Beidermier?"

"You just found him." A deep voice echoed from off to Matt's left and he turned. Beidermier was near Matt's size.

"Detective Houston – HCSO. I'd like to talk to you about one of your employees – Charles Nighthawk."

"We already talked to one of your guys last night."

"Yes sir, I understand that. I'd like to talk to you for myself though." The feeling that Matt got from the man was not good and he wondered if Martinez had found Joe's notes; she hadn't said and he hadn't thought to ask.

"You're gonna hear the same thing I told him on the phone last night – Nighthawk hadn't been here but a week or so. He did okay – not the best we've got around here but he was still learning his way around."

"Any problems with him?"

"Other than the fact that he thought he was better than everybody else – no."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he thought that just because he had been in the Navy he was smarter than the other guys in the warehouse. Kept trying to tell them they needed to reorganize."

"And who was his immediate supervisor?"

"Jorge Alfaro."

"I'd like to speak to him."

"He's night shift – won't be on until seven tonight."

"Could you give me his address?"

"We already gave it to the other guy."

"I haven't had the chance to speak to him today." _And never will_.

Sighing he shook his head. "Give it to him, Renee. Is that all?"

"For now...thanks." Matt waited as the secretary wrote out the man's information and handed it to him, walking out the door to the SUV, the feeling that he was being watched closely causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He turned left out of the parking lot and went back toward the department, stopping instead once again at the convenience store where he opened up the laptop that was in the SUV. A check of Jorge Alfaro came back with an assault conviction that had garnered him six months in jail and a $2500.00 fine ten years previously. Alfaro was forty three years old, married, and lived at the corner of Scott and Elmwood in the Crestmont Park area south of the city. Not looking forward to the twenty minute drive on an empty stomach, he went into the store and picked up a couple of burritos and a Fizzy Pop. After downing them in the parking lot, he started the vehicle and began the trip south.

Joe Sparks hadn't turned in his report from the night before and although Matt didn't know much about him, it seemed odd: by all accounts he had been conscientious. He glanced at his watch and hit Martinez's number. It went to voice mail and he left her a message before dialing Chris Eversong's number.

"Eversong."

"Hey, it's Houston. Did y'all find Joe's notebook on him?"

"Yeah...hang on." He went back to the evidence box on the table. "It's right here."

"Can you look in it and see what he got from last night? Anything to do with Moonshot Brewers or a guy named Alfaro?"

"He talked to him it looks like. I'll read you exactly what it says. _"Alfaro uncooperative. Claims not to have seen the vic in two days."_ That's it except that he talked to a guy named Beidermier who evidently is one of the brewers." There was silence. "Guess he was going to make his report after that."

"Yeah, I guess. But there's nothing else in there?"

"Just that nobody claims to have seen or heard anything that happened to Chuck. He was going to talk to Beidermier about the video today. The nightshift said they didn't have access to it."

"Damn." He sighed, not looking forward to going back to the brewery. "Okay, guess I'll have to stop by there again later. Thanks."

"Not a problem."

Hanging up, Houston drove on southward, the feeling that Alfaro or Beidermier were involved in the whole thing hanging over him. Beidermier was about the right size for the guy on the trail cams but since he hadn't laid eyes on Alfaro yet he was going to reserve judgment on that issue.

Suddenly another thought came to him: video surveillance from the ER where Chuck had been transported the night before. He pulled off to the side of the road and looked up the number for hospital security and dialed, requesting the footage from the area to be sent to Chris Eversong at the lab. Back on the road he thought about what the weapon could be that was used on both Chuck and Nighthawk. To him the pattern that he had seen at the ME's office looked like the diamond-shaped texturing on some of the ratchets that he owned. He pulled out his phone and called CJ once again. "Hey, can I get you to look into some of the folks at Moonshot a little more?"

"Sure – anyone in particular?" She put Daphne back down in the floor to play with the others as she picked up the laptop that was nearby. "Maintenance folks...I think maybe Chuck was hit with a ratchet handle – and so was Nighthawk."

"Ouch. Okay I'll do it."

"I'm on my way to talk to our victim's supervisor. Call me if you find something. Love you."

"You, too, Baby. 'Bye." She began going back through the list she had compiled the night before and found that there were six men that worked maintenance at the plant – three on day shift and three on night shift. Since Nighthawk had worked nights she started with those men first.

Michael Liao had been with Moonshot since they opened two years previously. As she had discovered the night before he had no criminal history and she couldn't find anything more serious than a couple of bounced checks that he had written several years before.

Leon Bennet joined the company about the same time as Liao. He was the divorced father of two kids and had credit card debt up to his eyeballs but nothing illegal or suspicious.

Last on the night shift maintenance schedule was Shane Dexter. Aside from the fact that he had two accounts that had gone into collections she couldn't find much else...until she looked into his marriage. He was divorced from none other than Renee Walters – the secretary at the brewery – who had apparently gone back to using her maiden name. _Interesting but certainly not illegal. _The day shift crew was much the same, with nothing to suggest any reason for any of them to have attacked Nighthawk or Chuck.

Looking at her watch she saw that it was nearly 1:00 and wondered how the surgery was going. Although Chuck and Lisa's oldest child Trevor, who was ten years old, understood that his dad was undergoing surgery and was concerned, he was a big help in taking care of his four siblings. Out of all five of the Wylies' children he looked the most like his dad and was a near carbon-copy of the sergeant. The addition of the five to the household, while keeping the adults on their toes, wasn't too hard to handle thanks to both Tomás and Trevor who had seemed to hit it off well.

As she sent her findings off in an email to Matt, she was joined on the couch once again by Daphne who seemed fascinated by the idea that there were two babies hidden in her belly. CJ picked the three year old up once again and gave her a big hug, causing her to giggle uncontrollably. Catey had been thrilled to wake up to a houseful of new playmates and was making the most of the situation.

Down in Crestmont Park, Houston pulled into the dirt driveway of the home of Jorge Alfaro. Toys were scattered around the yard and a chained up dog began barking at him as he shut the engine off. As he went up the three steps to the front porch the door was opened by a woman in her thirties. "Good afternoon." He touched the brim of his cap. "I'd like to speak with Jorge if he's home, please ma'am."

"He's sleeping right now – works nights. Shut up, Diablo!" She yelled at the dog who whined and then sat down.

"Yes ma'am, I understand he works nights but this is pretty important. One of his co-workers was murdered and we wondered if..."

"I already talked to the cops." The man emerged from one of the back rooms wearing a pair of jeans and boots.

"Yes sir. Unfortunately that detective passed away overnight." As the words left his lips he saw Alfaro's hand go behind him and Houston drew his own pistol and had it pointed at the man before the weapon even made it around past his side. "Drop it...now." Alfaro froze. "Bullets travel about 1500 feet per second...how fast do you think you can move?" He watched as the man slowly dropped the gun. "Ma'am, I need you to have a seat on the couch, please. Jorge, put your hands on your head and ease on out the door for me." He watched as both did as he said, the man slowly opening the screen door as Matt took a step backward. "Turn and face the door...down on your knees...now cross your ankles." Reaching back for his cuffs with his left hand he got the first one on his suspect and was then hit in the gut by the man's left elbow. Falling forward, he pinned the man down and cuffed his other hand only to look up as the woman was bringing the gun up to fire. "Don't do it!" He pointed his pistol at her and started through the front door of the home. Reaching out he took the weapon from her and herded her out onto the front porch where he had her to lay face down as he spoke into the mic on his shoulder and called for backup. Three young children stood in the house in shock. "Y'all sit down on the couch, okay?" The oldest child, a girl of about nine nodded and gathered her two brothers who were about seven and five and got them on the couch. All three began crying as both their mother and father began spewing a load of curses in both English and Spanish. "Hush, they don't need to hear all that."

Although it was only a few minutes in reality, the wait for other officers seemed to take an eternity as he kept an eye on his prisoners as well as tried to comfort the kids, his phone ringing not just once but three times. Once help arrived and the woman was placed in cuffs, he called for Child Protective Services to come get the three and after reciting his prisoners' Miranda rights and loading Jorge into the back of his SUV, he pulled out his phone to see who had been calling: Derwin Dunlap. "Bud, you're just gonna have to wait." He replaced the phone in his pocket and headed back to the office to question the suspect.

As he got out of the SUV in the parking lot of the station his phone rang again, this time with Michelle Rodolfo on the other end of the line. "Hey, I've been running some tests on the bag that was on Nighthawk's head – we've got DNA that doesn't match the victim on the duct tape, but it does match DNA on the cloth that you found on the fence."

"That's great, hon. I'll catch up with you in a little bit."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"So let's see: as of right now I've got you for unlawful possession of a firearm, attempted aggravated assault, assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest..." Houston took a sip of coffee and looked across the table in the interrogation room at Alfaro who didn't say a word but stared up at the ceiling. "Your wife is up on charges, too." Still nothing was said. "You know that cop you hit is the father of five kids?" He stared angrily across the table at the man. "Now your three little kids are pretty scared right now." Alfaro didn't speak. "But I guess you don't much care about them – otherwise you wouldn't have pulled a gun with them around." That got him a glare. "So right now the three of them are in CPS custody." The glare continued. "Do you want them to stay there?"

"With you charging my wife there isn't a lot I can do – is there?" It was said with a sneer.

"Actually, I could drop the charges on her." He sipped again and waited, his phone vibrating yet again. Pulling it out he saw that it was Derwin again and declined the call.

"So what would happen then?"

"If she's never been in trouble before most likely she would go back home to them." He waited.

"What do you want?"

"Why did you hit Detective Wylie?" Alfaro shifted in the chair and stayed quiet. Houston took another sip and waited patiently, knowing that most likely one of two things was going to happen: either the man was going to tell him why, or he would lawyer up.

"I thought he was there to arrest me for hitting Charlie Nighthawk." He looked back up at the detective. "Look, I didn't mean for the cop to die. I was just looking to get away. When he pulled into the parking lot I was outside on a smoke break and..." He shrugged. "It was stupid – I didn't think about it. I popped him with the ratchet handle. Will you drop the charges on her now?"

"Yep." He saw the look of relief that came over the man's face. "Is that all you did?"

"I missed and hit the mirror on the truck." The man sounded surprised that the cop wanted to talk about the damage to the vehicle.

"I mean to Charlie Nighthawk."

"Yeah."

"Do you have any other guns besides the one you pulled on me?"

"No."

"We'll be searching your house. If there's one there you need to let me know now."

"That's all I've got. I can't afford another one. Hell – I can't even afford to buy more bullets for the thing."

Matt's phone vibrated again and he pulled it out. There was a text from CJ: "Chuck's OK!" A feeling of relief washed over him. "Just so you know, the cop isn't dead – but Nighthawk is very dead. He not only got hit, he was shot in the head with a .22."

"No...no, man. I didn't shoot anybody. That gun stays at the house so my wife can have it while I'm at work and it isn't even a .22."

"Know anybody who has one?"

"Yeah, lots of people."

"Anybody that had a beef with Charlie?"

"I don't know. He's gotten into it with a couple of the guys since he got here."

"Look..." The detective finished off the coffee and sat the mug down on the table. "You're in trouble for sure at this point but anything you do to help clear a murder – anything that's true – will go toward helping you."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"I need names."

"Beidermier and Dexter. Those are the only two that I know about."

"What about them?" He pulled out his notebook and began writing.

"Charlie was hitting on Dexter's ex – she's a secretary in the front office."

"Ex as in...?"

"Wife."

"Kinda isn't his business once the divorce was final was it?"

Shrugging, Alfaro continued. "He warned all of us not to hit on her. Said he didn't want to hear or see anything about it."

"Alright. What about Beidermier?"

"I think he was tired of hearing complaints from the other guys about him."

"Where's the ratchet?"

"In the bayou."

"Why did you have it in the first place?"

"It was laying out on the back dock. When Charlie came out and started giving me a hard time the other night I smacked him with it."

"And you just happened to have it when the detective showed up last night?"

"I was about to toss it into the bayou and he saw me when he pulled into the lot. Asked me what I was doing. I panicked..." Shrugging he put his head in his hands.

"What else can you tell me about Beidermier and Dexter?"

"I don't know...Beidermier's just kind of a jerk in general. Thinks he's the big man. Dexter is so damn jealous over Renee it's a wonder he can do any work at all."

"Well..." Houston stood up. "I appreciate your honesty, Jorge. You're in a bad situation but the fact that you fessed up and told the truth will help you in the long run – but you and I both know you're gonna do some time."

"Yeah...I just...the only thing I'm worried about is my family."

Houston lowered his voice and the anger he still felt was echoed in every syllable as he spoke. "Well, the detective you hit is like a member of _my_ family – like a brother to me. We've known each other for thirty years. So pardon me if I don't have a hell of a lot of sympathy for you." He lowered his voice to just above a whisper and leaned down just inches from Alfaro's face. "You better be real glad he's alive..."

Leaving the interrogation room, the detective pulled out his phone and called Martinez once again. "Hey, I've got the guy that hit Chuck. He also hit Nighthawk but didn't shoot him. I've got a couple of suspects on that part."

"Great job. So he's in custody?"

"He is – and about to go through booking."

"So where do we stand on Nighthawk?"

"I'm about to bring in the other two suspects and see what I can figure out."

"I heard you had a little excitement earlier."

"A little. I'm going to take some help with me this time."

"Good. Let me know how it goes."

"Will do." He hung up and went to round up a few deputies to help and arranged for Michelle Rodolfo to go to Moonshot and check through the surveillance videos and see what else she could find. When he had found three others to help him, they divided up and went to pick up the two men for questioning. Matt and a deputy he had worked with previously – Greg Bivens – teamed up to go pick up Beidermier while the other two men went to track down Dexter at his apartment.

"So I heard Detective Wylie is going to be okay." Bivens was riding shotgun with Houston.

"Yeah." There was obvious relief in the answer. As they drove along the detective's phone began ringing once again and this time he answered. "Yeah, Derwin?" Due to the nature of his business with the computer guru he hadn't put the phone on speaker but was forced to turn down the volume so that Bivens wouldn't hear anymore of the conversation than was absolutely necessary. After listening to the man rant for a few seconds he interrupted. "I'm working on a case for the Sheriff's Department. When you called..." Once again Dunlap started in and Bivens looked out the passenger window and tried not to eavesdrop. "Are you done now? Good. I was taking a guy into custody when you called and got into an altercation with him. Then his wife picked up the gun and damn near shot me. So no – I didn't answer your calls earlier: I was busy trying not to get killed." There was silence on the other end of the line and then a quieter conversation ensued. "I've been working on it at night. But I've found somebody to take charge of the construction and I'll be heading back to LA in a couple of days." Dunlap was evidently appeased by the answer and apparently offered an apology. "Look – have I let you down on a deadline yet?" There was a pause. "I'm doing my best. But I'm going to make this clear: if CJ needs me I won't be going to Washington. They can come to us as far as I'm concerned. As a matter of fact I would prefer it that way." The conversation went on for a few more minutes. "Okay, I've gotta get off of here. I'm almost to my suspect's place of business. I'll call you later on. 'Bye." He hung up then looked over at Bivens. "Sorry about that."

"None of my business." The deputy had heard the scuttlebutt about the PI that had become a sergeant on the force and had heard Chuck talk about him enough to know that the man had all kinds of skills and the mention of Washington had definitely gotten his attention.

They pulled into the parking lot at Moonshot Brewers at almost 3:30 and made their way inside. "Afternoon. I need to speak with Mr. Beidermier again, please ma'am."

"He's not going to be happy."

"That's unfortunate. I need to speak with him anyway. Is he in his office?" The detective started for the door.

"Yeah, but you can't go in..."

Houston went on through the door. "Mr. Beidermier, I need you to come down to the station with us."

"Like hell."

"We need to talk some more about the murder of Charlie Nighthawk."

"I'm not talking."

"That's your right but you're still coming with us – you're now a suspect." He and Bivens started around either side of the desk as the brewer attempted to push past the deputy who snagged his arm and turned him to face the desk while Houston began cuffing him. After a slight struggle they had him in custody and took him out through the front door and stuffed him into the back of the SUV where he continued to hurl insults and threats all the way back to the station.

Once inside, Beidermier began to calm down slightly and made it clear that he wouldn't be saying anything without a lawyer present. "That's your right." Matt walked him back to one of the interrogation rooms as the other two deputies walked in with Dexter who apparently had come without any hesitation whatsoever. The moment the brewer laid eyes on the maintenance man he once again began ranting and raving. Bivens and Houston exchanged a knowing glance. "Greg, why don't you keep Mr. Beidermier company for a little bit while Mr. Dexter and I have a chat?"

"Sure thing." The deputy nodded and went into the interrogation room with the unruly brewer.

"Mr. Dexter, thanks for coming down to talk with us." Matt had been joined in the room by one of the deputies that had escorted the maintenance man.

"No problem. Not sure what I can tell you, though. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

"I understand that your ex-wife is an employee at Moonshot? Works up front?"

"Uh huh." He wore a puzzled expression on his face.

"Folks have told me that you're still uh...protective of her. That you didn't want any of the guys hitting on her – is that right?"

Squirming slightly, Dexter looked down for a minute. "Yeah, that's right. It's bad enough to have to see her everyday but I need the job and so does she. I just don't want to have to hear one of 'em talking about...you know."

"I can understand that. So can you tell me if one of them was dating her?"

"They better not have been." The anger started to rise.

"Did you hear about anybody?"

"No." He was completely confused. "I don't understand what any of this has to do with Charlie Nighthawk or that detective."

"Not sure that it does. But I did hear that Nighthawk was very much interested in Renee."

"Man, I didn't do anything to him. I haven't heard a word about it."

"What can you tell me about Beidermier?"

Shrugging, the little man moved in his seat again. "I don't know – he's one of the brewers. Kind of a jerk but I haven't really had much trouble with him."

"Do you know if he had problems with Nighthawk?"

"Heck, Charlie hadn't really been there long enough to have troubles with anybody that I know of...he's only been there a little over a week."

"Okay, I'm going to get a statement typed up for you to sign. Just hang tight, okay?" He watched as the man nodded and he left, heading down the hall to refill his coffee cup and then into the room where Beidermier was being held. Once inside the brewer let loose with a stream of insults and curses. Sitting down across from the man, the detective propped his feet up on the table and calmly looked across at him until he finally got quiet. "Are you done now?"

"No, I'm not done. I want a damn lawyer!"

"There's already one on the way." Bivens spoke up.

"Good. Want a cup of coffee?"

"No." The suspect glared at him again.

"How 'bout you, Greg?"

"Sure. Be right back." He slipped out of the room and came back to find Houston quietly sipping his coffee and staring at Beidermier, suspecting that the staring had been going on since he left from the way the brewer was trying to look everywhere but at the detective. Nothing was said for another half hour during which Houston finished his coffee and continued to stare at the man.

"Bivens, you do much fishing?"

"When I get the chance."

"Ever fish the bayous?"

"Used to when I was a kid – not so much now – I know better."

"Funny some of the things you can find in there." Houston stopped for a minute. "Bream, perch, carp, catfish...an occasional gator."

"That's what broke me of the habit – a five foot gator." The deputy nodded.

"'Course there are other things in there, too. I've seen old washing machines, lot of tires...even ratchets and handguns." The last got Beidermier's attention. "What about you?" He looked at the brewer who refused to answer. "From what Dexter told me while ago we're going to get to go fishing in the bayou back behind he brewery. Might even find something that doesn't swim."

Sweat broke out on the brewers brow. "Where's my lawyer? You can't talk to me without him here."

"We're just talking about fishing. No harm in that...is there?" The question went unanswered. Quiet resumed and a few minutes later there was a knock at the door and Beidermier's lawyer was brought inside. As expected, the interview was over at that point but the brewer was booked into the jail on charges of interfering in an investigation.

"You know we can't hold him for long on that." Bivens walked out with Matt.

"Yep, looks like we're about to go fishing in the bayou."

A short time later, Houston pulled up outside of Moonshot once again, this time parking at the back of the gravel lot near the edge of Buffalo Bayou. As he exited the vehicle, he pulled out a bottle of water and popped the hatch at the rear of the SUV and had a seat as he watched CSI Chris Eversong get ready to go into the water. Looking up at his audience the tech gave him a grin. "Wanna trade places?"

"Not really." Popping the top on the bottle he took a long swig and got comfortable. In a minute he was joined by the sheriff who sat down next to him.

"So you have Beidermier in custody for interfering...that won't last long."

"Nope." Both watched as the tech went in near the spot that Jorge Alfaro had described to Houston.

"So you really think he shot Nighthawk?"

"Yep."

She waited expecting more of an answer. "Care to share?"

"Just a hunch."

Martinez leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "One of _those_ hunches?" She had witnessed one of the detective's visions a few weeks earlier when he knew that a tornado was about to hit.

"Yep." After another swig he explained. "When I left here this morning I had a feeling...kinda made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Plus when Beidermier saw Dexter earlier at the station he went bonkers. I've got a feeling it has to do with Dexter's ex." After another swig the bottle was empty and he tossed it behind him into the SUV. "Michelle is in his office getting a DNA sample from his coffee cup. I've got a feeling it'll match up to the DNA on the duct tape that was around the bag on Nighthawk's neck and the cloth on the fence. Plus he's about the same size as the guy on Devereux's trail cam."

Both remained silent as they waited for Eversong to resurface. After a few more minutes he did just that, holding the ratchet in his hand and dropping it into and evidence bag before diving back down into the murky mess to look for the pistol.

Martinez spoke up again. "How do you know he threw it in back here?"

"I don't...but it sure is convenient."

"True."

Down in the stained waters of the bayou, Chris continued to search using a metal detector. The biggest problem was the amount of trash that was collected at the bottom. Everything from washers and dryers to shopping carts could be found in the water – some washed in by storms and others dumped by those too lazy to dispose of them properly. After emerging for a fresh tank the tech went back in and within a few minutes emerged with a big smile on his face and a .22 pistol in his hand. A satisfied smile passed over the detective's face and he exchanged a high five with the sheriff.

Martinez's phone rang and after listening for a minute she thanked the person on the other end and hung up. "We've got another arrest to make. Follow me."

"Alright." Climbing behind the wheel Houston followed his boss' SUV out of the parking lot and back to the station somewhat puzzled, but as he entered the building his question was soon answered. Standing in the lobby swearing at one of the officers behind the front desk was none other than Sergeant Oglesby. Pulling her cuffs the moment she saw him, Martinez walked up behind him, snatched his left arm behind him and began cuffing him. The irate CSI tech turned and began to punch at whoever was behind him and instead found his right wrist caught by Houston who gave it a slight backward twist and caused him to sink to his knees. "Shut up." The voice from the detective was a growl.

"Gregory Oglesby, you're under arrest for tampering with evidence, interfering in an investigation, assaulting a police officer...times two...and whatever else I can think up." She made sure the cuffs were snugged down as tight as possible as two deputies came to lead him off to booking, the curses aimed at her and Houston flying loudly and freely through the air. "He was on the surveillance video at the hospital – walking out with the camera that was used for Chuck's pictures. Man, that felt good!" She grinned at the detective and both walked on back to begin on the paperwork.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

"Hey, how ya doin', pard?" Houston was standing next to Chuck's hospital bed the following afternoon.

Groggily the man answered. "Like somebody rang my chimes."

"I got him for you."

"Lisa told me...thanks." He closed his eyes for a minute. "Why'd he do it?"

"He had hit Nighthawk in the head – used the same ratchet even. But one of the brewers shot him a while later over a woman that worked there. It's kind of complicated. Long story short – we got 'em. Oh, and you won't have to worry about Oglesby anymore either."

"Good." Wylie closed his eyes again. "Thanks, pard."

"Not a problem."

"Kinda wish now I hadn't put that fake snake in the truck when you were going to borrow it." Chuck opened his eyes again.

"No you don't – you'd do it over again if you had the chance." Houston chuckled.

"True." In a minute he was back to sleep and Houston sat down next to Lisa.

"I heard on the news that Beidermier had been sleeping with the secretary and got jealous of Nighthawk."

"Yep. His DNA was on the cloth that we found on the fence and on the duct tape. Even the gun was registered to him. It's still gotta go to court but we've made a pretty good case."

"Looks like Ferris was wrong."

"Oh, how's that?"

"He said that when you found whoever hurt Chuck they were gonna get – and I quote - "an ass-whoopin'"."

Looking over at his childhood friend Houston nodded. "I sure wanted to do it. But sometimes you can't do things like that."


End file.
